


Of Spies And Lavender

by WhiteCeilings



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BAMF Maria Hill, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Flirting, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Lesbian Maria Hill, Lesbian Natasha Romanov, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, POV Natasha Romanov, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:15:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25586563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteCeilings/pseuds/WhiteCeilings
Summary: Natasha has nowhere else to turn after a mission turns bloody.
Relationships: Maria Hill/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 4
Kudos: 192





	Of Spies And Lavender

**Author's Note:**

> This story is dedicated to my girlfriend who 2 hours ago said "a fic with hurt/comfort, flirting, and enemies to lovers sounds interesting, why?"

Natasha didn’t wince as Hill stitched her up. It wasn’t the first time she’d gotten stitches-- Hell, it didn’t even make the top ten. It was just her arm that needed stitching, which was much less painful than  _ some _ places. Her head might’ve needed it to, but that cut was tucked away in the back of her hairline and Natasha would only point it out if it was still bleeding in a few minutes. Otherwise, Hill probably wouldn’t notice-- one of the many perks of being a redhead. 

In lieu of watching herself get sewn back together, Natasha watched Hill. She was a big fan of Hill, even if the feeling wasn’t always mutual. Maria Hill had already been integrated in SHIELD when Natasha joined up, and had been working her way up the bureaucratic ladder even then. Natasha had heard about her from various people around the building, but it wasn’t until a few weeks in that Natasha met her for herself. She’d been on the 17th floor and had gone to investigate after hearing a noise out in the hallway. It turned out to be Hill and some pathetic looking guy in a suit who looked like he was trying his damndest not to piss himself as Hill held him against the wall by his throat. “Listen here, and listen good,” Hill had practically growled, her voice low in her throat, her grip unwavering. “If I  _ ever  _ hear you harassing an intern ever again, you will never climb the ranks at SHIELD. Already I've reported you to a disciplinary board, who will ensure this goes on your permanent record. If I get my way, you will never work for the U.S. government again. Do we have an understanding?”

The man had nodded, and she dumped him on the ground, stepping back. She practically sneered as he scrambled to collect himself, running away. 

Natasha leaned up against the wall on the other side of the hallway, and though she was quiet about it something must have tipped Hill off because she turned, leveling her glare on Natasha. “Can I  _ help  _ you?”

“I’m sure you could,” Natasha muttered, then came forward and introduced herself. Hill wasn’t too pleasant in her introduction, but Natasha had no problem with it. She liked a little fire.

Their interactions didn’t evolve much from there. Hill was religious in her dislike, always treating Natasha like a hostile rather than a coworker. It was never on anything that mattered though; they worked together on one mission in which Hill was downright cordial, right up until they submitted the final report to Fury. 

And what a mission that had been. They’d ended up in an alley not two feet wide, pressed up against each other with a sensitive microchip help between them, both holding their breathes as Mafia lords hunted around for them. When the coast was clear, Hill exhaled, so close they brushed jackets. “Don’t think this means I like you,” she whispered, eyes low.

“Never,” Natasha agreed, with a quick quirk of a smile. 

Natasha was dragged out of memories by a painful jerk to her arm. “Ow,” she complained, batting Hill’s hand away. “Can’t you tell I’m injured?”

Hill gave her a dry look. “You’re literally bleeding on me, I noticed. I just had to knot the thread.”

“Well, you didn’t have to be so mean about it.”

“You didn’t have to ask for my help,” Hill rebutted. “May I remind you that I’m not a doctor. You could’ve gone to an actual hospital: maybe they would’ve treated you nicer.”

Natasha rolled her neck out, trying to get rid of some of the tension. “Bold of you to assume I don’t prefer it this way.”

They didn’t say the obvious, that Natasha really couldn’t go to a hospital. Technically, she was on the run, because technically she’d just helped Captain America bring down SHIELD, which technically had been infested with a bunch of Neo-Nazis. If they were speaking of technicalities, it might also be worth mentioning that Hill had been the Assistant Director of SHIELD, and technically Natasha’s actions had cost her her job.

So yeah, Hill really didn’t owe her shit. And yet, it didn’t stop Natasha from coming to her. She’d been in the area, getting blood all over the sidewalk, and thought  _ you know, it’s been awhile since Maria and I had a good chat. Maybe she’ll make me some tea. _

__ __ Hill did  _ not _ make her tea, but she did help her get patched up. Natasha watched as she applied a fresh bandage over the stitches. Hill was still wearing her pajamas, a faded Navy shirt from her stint in the military, and gray sweatpants that hugged low on her waist. Her feet were bare, and every so often they brushed against Natasha’s clothed calf as Hill tried to get close enough to apply the first aid. Natasha felt every brush of her foot, every caress of her hands, with their long, nimble fingers and short, unpainted nails. As Hill worked, she frowned, and a little crease appeared between her eyebrows. Every so often, her bangs-- which were usually perfectly curled and styled when in uniform, and now were messy from sleep-- would fall in her eyes, and she’d blow them out of her face. 

“Why do you hate me so much?” Natasha asked, the question coming from nowhere. Or… well, maybe it was warranted. Natasha thought about it, sometimes. Not that she made a habit of thinking about Hill, of course, but she  _ did _ cross her mind from time to time. 

“I should be asking the questions here,” Hill rebutted, not even hesitating. “What happened to you anyway? Get in a cat fight?”

“Yeah,” Natasha agreed, lips drawing up at the corner from the memory. “With Brock Rumlow.”

Hill stopped what she was doing to look at her, and Natasha quickly dropped the smile, trying to seem nonchalant. “You found Rumlow?” Hill questioned. 

“Yep,” Natasha agreed, popping the ‘P’. “Like I said, he wasn’t far from here. I stopped in for a visit, we got in a scuffle. I got him to admit to his war crimes, which was nice, even if he called me a fucking bitch.”

Hill hummed, going back to work. She’d taken note of the small abrasions all along Natasha’s hand and had started wrapping gauze around it, the white fabric getting stained with droplets of red. “Should we call someone?”

“Already called them,” Natasha said, her mood lowering only a little. “They’ll be by to pick up the body soon.”

Hill made a low, displeased noise in the back of her throat. Natasha found herself tilting her head at it, leaning forward a little, but when Hill glanced up and met her eyes she dropped her gaze. “You don’t need to be the judge, jury and executioner,” Hill scolded.

“Yeah? Who else is doing it?”

“Capitol Hill--”

“Capitol Hill is working on it, but they’re hardly efficient enough to catch one bad guy, much less dozens. I’ll stop being the executor when there stop being people to execute.”

Hill just shook her head. “Jesus, Nat. You’ve always been--”

Natasha leaned forward, pressing her calf firmly to Hill’s foot. “What? I’ve always been what?”

Hill met her eyes, her glare coming back but not even close to full force. Her eyes darted down, assumably checking for more wounds… or maybe looking for something else. “You’ve always been so willful.”

“You say it like it’s a bad thing.”

“It  _ is _ ,” Hill insisted. She finished wrapping Natasha’s hand, tying it off methodically. “Where else are you hurt? We got the scrapes on your leg, the cut on your arm, your hand…” 

Natasha shrugged. “The rest is mostly bruising, I think. I might have a few broken ribs.”

The crease in between her eyebrows came back. “Let me see.”

Natasha raised the side of her shirt, not even bothering to look down at the dark bruising. It was probably purple by now, mottled with reds and greens. Nothing she hadn’t seen before; better for her not to look. Pain was all about perception, and if she didn’t see it she didn;t have to perceive it so strongly. 

Hill pushed her hand aside, hiking up the fabric of her shirt higher. She ran her other hand along the outside of the bruise, and when Natasha winced it wasn’t so much due to the pain as it was to the coldness of her touch. 

“Sorry,” Hill muttered.

“Don’t worry about it,” Natasha replied, automatic. “You’re perfect.”

Hill met her eyes, and there was something else there, not the contempt from before. This was a different emotion: worry, maybe. Or want.

“You should turn yourself in,” Hill said softly, hand still on Natasha’s exposed side. She felt her fingers curl, oh so slightly. “Safer that way.”

“I don’t need to be safe,” Natasha swore.

Hill stared at her for a moment longer before finally sighing and turning away. “You have blood on your face, and you’re probably going to have a black eye tomorrow. What, did you fight him with your bare hands?”

“I needed closure,” Natasha complained. “It’s worth it. I can handle some light bruising.”

“I can’t handle  _ you _ ,” Hill muttered under her breath. 

“No, but you could.”

Hill ignored the comment, grabbing for a wet washcloth instead. Natasha stayed dutifully still as Hill dabbed at her eyebrow, using one hand with those long, slender fingers to tilt Natasha’s head a little, holding it steady. “I’m gonna get a butterfly bandage for it.”

“See that you do,” Natasha agreed, not really caring what she said at this point. 

It was worth getting beat up, Natasha decided, to have Hill’s hands on her. It had been so long since Natasha’d had nice touch-- a painful side effect of being on the run-- that to be so close to Maria now almost made her want to do something drastic. Something drastic, like climbing into her lap. Something drastic like dragging her hands up and down her sides, brushing her bangs out of her face, feeling along the low hem of her sweats…

Hill took her by the chin, making her angle her face upwards, and dabbed carefully at her split lip. “What am I going to do with you,” Hill murmured. 

Natasha ducked her head and looked up, their eyes meeting. They were so close like this-- they had to be, for Hil to reach her face-- and really, their lips weren’t even that far apart. It wasn’t a big distance. It should be easily crossed. 

Natasha blinked a couple times, glanced down at Hill’s lips, tried to make her intentions clear, but Hill didn’t even seem to notice. She dabbed at Natasha’s lip again, then cleared her throat, pulling away. “Do you have somewhere to sleep?”

“Oh, I don’t need to sleep,” Natasha said, mostly just to get a rise out of her. 

Hill huffed, flicking her bangs off her forehead. “You can use my shower, and I’ll make up the couch for you. Just for tonight, okay?”

“Sounds good,” Natasha agreed, making to stand. She underestimated the weight of the injury on her leg, however, and stumbled forward. Hill managed to catch her, hauling her back up and putting an arm around her waist to help support her. “Shit, maybe I should run a bath instead. You alright?”

“I’m better now,” Natasha assured, which was mostly due to the fact that Hill’s arm was around her now, which meant Hell yeah, she was doing better. “You should probably stick around as I bathe, though. I could drown.”

“You won’t drown,” Hill scoffed, but otherwise didn’t object to the idea. “Let me guess, I should let you sleep in my bed with me too? To make sure you don’t, what, strangle yourself in your sheets?”

“It’s a very real danger,” Natasha agreed, nodding thoughtfully. “Though I wouldn’t want to impose…”

In a move so smooth it could’ve been choreographed, Hill changed her grip on Natasha’s waist and leaned her against the wall, moving close into her space. She put one hand on her hip, the other on her jaw, and then they were kissing-- short, sweet, and just a little bit bloody, but it was enough to leave Natasha hazy-eyed and breathless all the same. “Let’s get you cleaned up first,” Hill mumbled, almost against her lips, “And  _ then _ we’ll discuss sleeping arrangements.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment and let me know what you thought!


End file.
